The Girl With No Name (47 page)

Charlotte, safely home at Blackdown House, sat on her bed and relived the evening. Her evening with Billy. The feel of his arms round her as they danced, his cheek against her hair, his breath on her cheek, the pressure of his hand in the small of her back and above all the way he’d kissed her. The evening had been wonderful. The exuberance of the dance in the hall, the laughter and the gaiety, despite the wartime austerity, had lifted the spirits of the whole village. They had raised a collective two fingers to Hitler and his crew and the jollity of the evening had left everyone with a sense of wellbeing as they walked home through the warm darkness of a midsummer’s night.

The peace of that summer night was shattered just over an hour later by the howl of the air raid sirens. Most of the people of Wynsdown had fallen into bed, exhausted after the night’s festivities in the village hall, and were rudely roused again by the unexpected warning.

Charlotte jerked awake, pulled from the depths of sleep by the insistent wail that echoed across the hills. Miss Edie, startled from a deep sleep, got out of bed and crossed to her window. Careful to show no light, she pulled aside the blackout and looked out into the night. There was nothing to see, but it was not long before the sound of sirens was overlaid by the throb of aircraft.

A moment later Charlotte was beside her at the window. The drone of the aircraft was quite distinct now and in the distance starbursts of anti-aircraft fire lit the sky.

‘Do you think they’re headed for Bristol?’ Charlotte said as she craned her neck looking for the approaching planes.

‘Maybe,’ agreed Miss Edie, ‘but I can’t see any planes, can you?’

‘No. Perhaps they’re not as close as they sound.’

Major Bellinger and his Home Guards turned out at once to patrol the village and surrounding area, checking for leaking light and manning the prepared observation posts, but there was little more they could do.

Billy had not been asleep when the siren began and he was soon dressed in his Home Guard uniform and following his father out into the night. The moon was still in the sky, gleaming intermittently between rags of cloud, and they quickly made their way to the small stone shelter perched on a rise above the farm that served as an observation post. Once their eyes were accustomed to the midsummer darkness, they found their way across the familiar fields quite easily and were soon ensconced on the top of the hillock with their binoculars, scanning the sky towards Weston-Super-Mare, Wales and the sea. The post was connected by field telephone to Major Bellinger’s HQ at the manor, but though they stayed in the shelter until the all-clear sounded, there was nothing to report.

Other members of the platoon continued their patrols, dark shapes that could be seen prowling the village, keeping their vigil. They could hear distant explosions and vivid flashes of brilliance lit the western sky, too far away to pinpoint the targets, but close enough to fill the night air with the clamour of the raid.

Throughout the village people stood at their windows watching the sky. Few took shelter these days; the raids had fallen off in recent months and few people felt in danger when the sirens went off.

‘Looks as if Weston’s the target tonight,’ David Swanson said to his wife as they and the three children, who had crept from their beds, watched from a bedroom window. Little Val slipped her hand into his.

‘I don’t like it,’ she whispered.

‘No,’ David agreed softly, ‘nor do I. But the bombs are too far away to hurt us here.’

‘But why?’ asked Avril. ‘Why Weston, I mean.’

‘The Oldmixon factory, I expect, or maybe Banwell,’ replied David. ‘Obvious targets, really, aircraft factories.’

‘But how do they know about those?’ wondered Avril.

David shrugged. ‘Reconnaissance flights, I suppose.’

‘And the airfield,’ put in Paul. ‘They’d want to bomb that.’

‘And the airfield,’ David agreed and not wanting to frighten the girls any further said, ‘Come on, all of you, back to bed. You’ll catch cold out here.’ He picked Val up in his arms and, followed by the other two, carried her back to her bed, sitting beside her until she drifted off to sleep again.

When the all-clear finally sounded most of the inhabitants of Wynsdown had gone back to bed and later awoke to a peaceful Sunday morning. News of the attack on Weston reached the village early on. Martha Mason, the village schoolteacher, had a cousin who lived in Weston and she had spoken to her briefly on the phone.

‘There’s an awful lot of damage,’ she reported to those around her as she stood outside the church waiting for morning service. ‘My cousin Angela lives just off Moorland Road and she says there’s lots of damage there. It’s quite dreadful. The civil defence people are out searching for survivors in the ruined houses.’

There was an immediate buzz among the parishioners still gathered at the church gate and Martha became the centre of attention until the vicar came out to encourage his flock inside for the service. He, too, had news of the raid on Weston, where his elderly aunt now lived. She had rung the vicarage to let them know that she was safe and her home undamaged.

‘Some of the roads are badly affected,’ she’d told him. ‘But don’t worry about me. I’m fine and I don’t need to go out.’

David had been relieved and during the service he offered prayers for those who had been killed, injured or had lost their homes.

Charlotte and Miss Edie, who some months before had been prevailed upon to rejoin the choir, had been invited to the vicarage for lunch, and it was with a certain air of gloom that they all gathered in the vicarage garden in the summer sunshine for an alfresco meal. Caroline Morrison was there with Dr Masters.

‘I’m going back up to London tomorrow,’ Caroline told them. ‘I’m taking over a new children’s refuge in North London. It’s a home that was damaged in the Blitz, but it’s been repaired and is up and running again. It’ll be quite a challenge, but I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Has the bombing stopped in London now?’ asked Miss Edie.

‘Well, there isn’t the blanket bombing like during the Blitz,’ Caroline replied, ‘but there are occasional raids still.’

‘They said on the wireless that Hitler’s turned his attention elsewhere, now. Just bombing towns and cities at random.’

‘You mean like Weston?’ said Avril bleakly.

‘Caro’d come down to get away from bombs for a bit,’ said Dr Masters, ‘and now they’ve started bombing here!’

‘Well,’ said David, ‘let’s hope this was a one-off and we’ve seen the last of them.’

It wasn’t and they hadn’t. That night, soon after midnight, the sirens warned of another raid and once more a flight of enemy aircraft appeared over the horizon, sinister dark shapes in the night sky occasionally fixed for a moment in the beam of a pursuing searchlight. Anti-aircraft guns along the coast pounded away, sending shell after shell to explode among the marauding planes and below, the boom of explosions made clear the toll being exacted on the town.

Once more, the Home Guard were out on patrol. Most of them had had little or no sleep the previous night and several of them were slow to appear on duty that evening. Billy and his father returned to their observation post. From their perch on the hillside they could see across the fields down to the village in one direction and out towards the coast in the other.

‘Determined to finish what they started,’ John said as he scanned the sky with his binoculars. ‘Sent the buggers over from France, I expect. They’re too bloody close for comfort these days. Trying to soften us up. Reckon the invasion’s still on the cards.’

Sitting together in the darkness, watching the sky, Billy was tempted to tell his father the real reason for his recent special training weekend. He had been allowed to join the Home Guard when he’d turned seventeen and he’d turned out with them for training ever since. But a few weeks ago he’d been ‘invited’ to a special meeting. He had been down in Cheddar collecting supplies for his mother and had stopped at a pub for a quick pint of cider before going home again. As he sat at the bar nursing his pint, he was joined by an older man, wearing a Home Guard uniform.

‘Billy Shepherd, isn’t it?’ said the man as he hoisted himself up on to an adjacent bar stool.

Billy turned to find himself looking at Mr Tavistock, who had taught him history at school. Billy hadn’t seen him since he’d left school, though he’d heard that ‘Old Tavy’, as he’d been known, had retired soon after. Billy hadn’t been surprised; after all, Old Tavy
was
old, at least fifty. He’d been in the last war.

‘Mr Tavistock?’

‘Surprised to see me in uniform, lad? They’re calling on all of us old men these days. You in the Home Guard?’

Billy said that he was.

‘Thought so,’ said Mr Tavistock. ‘Thought I heard you were in the Wynsdown lot. Still farming up there with your dad, are you?’

‘Yes,’ replied Billy cautiously, wondering how the old man knew, or remembered, so much about him.

‘Important work that,’ remarked Mr Tavistock, signalling to the barmaid for a pint for himself and another for Billy.

‘Not much to do, if you ask me,’ Billy said. ‘A lot of parading and drill and that, and some exercises on the hills, but nothing exciting.’

‘Getting fed up with it, are you?’

‘I think we all are,’ answered Billy. ‘I mean, defending our country is vital, I know, and we have to stay in training, but at the moment most of us are bored with the whole thing.’

‘Well, there are ways of making it more interesting,’ Mr Tavistock said as he took a pull at his pint and smiled, savouring the first mouthful. ‘Special duties.’

Billy’s curiosity was piqued and he said, ‘What sort of special duties?’

Mr Tavistock tapped the side of his nose. ‘Can’t tell you that, lad. But if you think you might be interested, come to the Cliff Hotel on Saturday night and maybe you’ll find out.’ Then, inexplicably leaving the rest of his cider almost untouched on the bar, Old Tavy had slipped down from his stool and said, ‘Must be off. Think about Saturday. Come on your own. I’ll be there.’

Billy had thought about Saturday all week, and when Saturday evening came he’d ridden his bike down to Cheddar and made his way to the Cliff Hotel. Mr Tavistock was in the hallway and when he saw Billy he greeted him with a smile and led him upstairs into a room where three other men were waiting, sitting in awkward silence on the chairs which had obviously been set out for them. One of them, Kenny Blaker, had been at school with Billy and greeted him with a nod, but said nothing. As he took one of the seats, Billy wondered if Old Tavy had sent Kenny along, too. Didn’t he work for a builder? A few minutes later an officer came into the room and they all stood up.

‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ the officer said and, moving to the front of the room, looked round at them all. He didn’t introduce himself, simply said, ‘Thank you for coming.’ He continued to stand although a chair had been placed for him.

‘What I am about to say to you is extremely hush-hush,’ he began. ‘You will not repeat any of it to anyone. You’ve been asked here because we think that you are the men we need for one of our local auxiliary units. It means extra training and some secret and almost certainly dangerous work, in defence of your homes and your country, but each of you has been recommended by someone who knows you, which is why you’re here. If you are interested in hearing more about what we want you to sign up to, then stay and listen; if not, you should leave now and no one will think the worse of you. But I have to emphasise, we’re only asking for volunteers.’ He waited a moment, watching them. Billy looked back at him. This officer was asking him to do something secret and special in defence. He didn’t know what, but if he volunteered, he thought, he’d be doing something real for the war effort.

He remained seated, as did Kenny Blaker and the other two men.

The officer looked pleased. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a brief outline and then over the next few weeks you’ll be called for additional training to join a new signalling corps. At least, that’s how you’ll explain the additional training you’ll be receiving beyond the usual Home Guard exercises.

‘The possibility of a German invasion is still with us,’ the officer went on. ‘And we must be prepared. We’re training a secret resistance force, men who will continue to resist in the case of German occupation. They will be the men who disappear underground when the Germans arrive. They will be the men who continue to fight; who harry the invading troops, attacking, and running. Sabotage will be the order of the day, destruction of anything and everything that might aid the Germans in their occupation. They will be putting their lives on the line in every operation they undertake. Many of them will not survive, but we will not allow the Nazis simply to walk in and take our country from us.’ He paused and looked again at the young men seated in front of him. ‘You will be among these men. In the case of invasion, you will simply disappear. You men have been chosen because you know your own area inside out. Preparations are already being made locally, with hidden dumps of weaponry, ammunition, explosives and, of course, food and water, for your survival. You have been recruited into this resistance force, but you must never, ever, reveal to anyone else that such a force even exists. You are the Home Guard, but you are more, much more. You are our secret underground army and your very survival may depend on no one knowing that such an army exists. What people don’t know they cannot betray – even under pressure.’

‘You mean under torture.’ The words were said softly, but the officer pounced on them.

‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ he said. ‘When you return home after this training, you will say nothing of where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing. You will maintain absolute silence on the matter even with your closest friends and family... your wives and children, your parents and siblings, your girlfriend, your lover... none must have an inkling of what you’re being trained for. This is what you’re signing up to, this is what must be maintained, for your own safety, for the safety of us all.